


Two Changes of Good and Bad

by RowanSage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Angry Dumbledore, But pretty close to it at times lmao, Dumbledore feels guilty af because harry reminds him of Ariana, F/M, Fawkes - Freeform, Fawkes is a badass, Fix-It, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Dumbledore, Good Severus Snape, Harry is not op, Hurt Harry, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seer Luna Lovegood, Sentient Hogwarts, Shapeshifter Fawkes, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanSage/pseuds/RowanSage
Summary: After a devastating war leaving all close to him dead, Harry travels back in time to his younger body with the help of Fawkes. However, his meddling with time may cause unpredictable changes to the timeline, ones he will have to contend with before he can save his friends. Time travel AU, Fix-it. Powerful!Harry, Shapeshifter!Fawkes. Rated for language and violence.This is a repost from my profile on FFnet, harrypotterisawesome123 (Yeah, I know, I made that account when I was eleven).  I decided to post it on here as well for anyone who prefers this platform and for people who want to be able to download it.  Enjoy!





	1. Prologue: After the War

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! I decided to post my wonderful child on Ao3, since I know this is the preferred platform for a lot of people! From now on, I will be posting all updates both here and on FFnet simultaneously. I will also be editing as I go, so there may be some mistakes in the ffnet version that aren't present here. I will, at some point, go back and reupload those chapters, but for now, that's what's gonna happen. Enjoy!

Harry jerked awake with a gasp, and coughed, blood and dirt mixing on his tongue. He sat up with great care, wincing as his ribs ground together. _Shit! How long was I out?_ He searched for the sounds of battle; screams, spells, crashing. But all was silent. He staggered to his feet, clutching his wand in his unbroken hand, and looked around.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry moaned in despair, shuddering sobs coming up to choke him. He stumbled forward, unable to believe what he was seeing.

His friends.

His home.

Her presence was no longer in his mind. Hogwarts was no more.

Broken bodies lay among the ruins of Hogwarts castle, slumped in twisted parodies of sleep, or else contorted in the terror of the dead and dying. Harry saw a small first year, curled around another, older student. Her eyes were bulging and accusing as Harry took shaky steps forward. His shoe brushed white, luminous hair, and he looked down. Luna lay at his feet, her eyes closed and a smile curled peacefully on her face. Harry made to scream, but all he managed was a whimper. He sank to his knees. _Not you too. _

_It’s gone. _

_It’s all gone. _

_It’s over._

Harry let out a dry chuckle, feeling relief course through him despite the grief and pain. _It’s over._

A flash of flame alerted him to the presence of another, and he turned to see Fawkes swooping towards him, surveying the carnage.

_This isn’t true,_ he sung sadly. _This was not what I foresaw- This isn’t true!_ He let out a screech and settled on Harry’s knee.

“I know,” Harry replied numbly, still staring at Luna. “I wish I could save them, I wish I could’ve-” a picture of Ron burning alive in the Burrow flashed through his mind- “could’ve done something-”

_That’s it!_ Fawkes trilled, flame bursting forth from his feathers. Harry stared at him in a mix of bewilderment and anger, but Fawkes continued uninterrupted. _A wish! I can grant one wish in my lifetime! It might work!_

“You-you can bring them back?” Harry asked hoarsely.

_No. Not even I can do that. But I can send you back in time to your younger body. _

“You-” Harry gulped, gazing around at the devastation. He sighed. “Do it.”

_Are you sure?_ Fawkes sung cautiously, fluttering his wings. _There could be unpredictable changes to the timeline that even I- _

_“_I’ll do anything to get them back,” Harry fixed his desperate gaze on Fawkes, who flinched back. “Anything to keep them safe. Anything. Do it.”

_Alright,_ Fawkes agreed, looking resigned._ Grab my tail feathers and hold on tight. This is gonna hurt like hell._ Fawkes let out a screech of defiance, and Harry screamed as fire burned through him like paper. Then the world dissolved, and they both disappeared in a flash of pure white flame.


	2. Out of the Warzone and Into the Cupboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has gone back in time, back to the day when he first receives his Hogwarts letter. But, as he soon figures out, his actions are already changing the future . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for ya! This one isn't my favorite, but I feel like the characterization went pretty well.

“Up! Get up! Now!” Harry jerked awake and winced as pain immediately assaulted his head.  _ Fawkes really wasn’t kidding.  _

He sat up, deja vu slapping him in the face as he looked around at his old cupboard. His memory of it was fuzzy from the passage of time, but he remembered accurately the smell of dust and the spiders clinging to the ceiling. Aunt Petunia pounded on the door again, interrupting his revere and making him flinch as pain erupted in his skull once more.  _ Jesus, woman, I get it. Just give me a moment to- _

_ Well, now, this truly is a disgusting sleeping arrangement for a young child!  _ A familiar, twittering voice said. Harry jerked around in shock, and saw a small red and black chickadee perched on the edge of his mattress.

“Fawkes?” He asked incredulously.

_ Indeed,  _ Fawkes sniffed, fluttering his ridiculously tiny wings.  _ I can’t imagine why you didn’t grow up to hate muggles. I say! Look at the size of those spiders!  _ Fawkes squawked in disgust as one fell down near him.

“I suppose it is quite gross in here,” Harry murmured. “But what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to merge with your younger self as well? And what’s with the shape-shifting?"

_ The wish you made was only for one of us, _ said Fawkes sadly.  _ And besides, it’s probably better this way. Albus would have known there was something off about me. Oh, and most phoenixes that are powerful enough can shapeshift. Didn’t you know? _

“I guess,” Harry sighed, laying back on his bed. “I just didn’t realize _you_ could do it. I’m sorry you can’t go back in your original form, though.” They sat in silence for a moment, before Harry sat up again.

“Time to face my relatives,” He said. “If we stay in here any longer, I’ll be punished.” Fawkes trilled discomfittedly.

_ I’ll have to stay in here, _ he said.  _ I don’t think that whale-uncle of yours would appreciate a bird flying around his house. _

“No, he definitely wouldn’t,” Harry conceded. “I’ll be back.”

_ See that you are! _ Fawkes twittered.  _ In the meantime, I’ll try to find a form that’s a bit more discreet.  _ Harry nodded, and opened his cupboard door.

When he entered the kitchen, Uncle Vernon was waiting for him. Wordlessly, he pointed at the egg carton and raw bacon sitting on the counter, and, with a slight twinge of annoyance, Harry began preparing a meal.

As he whisked the eggs, he felt sadness stirring within him. It was a strange feeling, being eleven again and making breakfast for his relatives. Absurd, that making eggs was the only peaceful thing he’d done in a long time. Ginny’s half-melted face cut across his field of vision, and he winced, almost dropping the bowl.

“Careful, boy!” Uncle Vernon snapped. “If you drop those eggs, I’m dropping your face on the burning stove!”

“Yes, Uncle,” Harry replied. “Sorry Uncle.” 

He completed the breakfast without any further incidents, and piled it onto three plates, being careful to portion them equally. He felt the vibrations of Dudley’s footsteps as he entered the room and plopped down at the table, the wooden chair creaking ominously.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asked loudly.

“Eggs and bacon,” Harry replied. Dudley scoffed.

“Weren’t asking you.” Harry chose to serve the plates, rather than answering. Uncle Vernon scowled at him as he finished.

“Be grateful you didn’t drop those eggs, boy, or you wouldn’t be getting your breakfast,” He said nastily, and indicated a set-aside plate holding a thin slice of cheese and half a loaf of stale bread. Harry nodded, bowing his head shamefully, and retrieved his meager breakfast.

_ I didn’t realize how abusive they were when I was younger, _ Harry pondered as he found a corner of the kitchen to sit down in.  _ Merlin. Maybe I can do something to change that this time ‘round. _

The click of the mail slot interrupted his musings, and Harry realized belatedly that he’d missed the almost-tantrum surrounding Dudley’s birthday presents.  _ Ah, well, not like I wanted to hear that anyway. _

“Get the mail, Dudley.”

“Make Harry get it!”

“Get the mail, Harry.”

“Alright.” Harry stood, placing his plate next to the sink. He smiled slightly as he went to gather the mail at the doormat, anticipating what he knew was within it. He crouched down and sifted through the mail, pausing as he found was he was looking for.

**Mr. H. Potter**

**The Cupboard Under the Stairs**

**Number 4, Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging**

**Surrey**

Grinning, Harry stowed his Hogwarts letter in the baggy pocket of his trousers when Uncle Vernon wasn’t looking. That was not a mistake he felt like repeating. He hurried back over to the table and set the letters down in front of Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia nodded without looking at him, so he turned and made his way back to his cupboard, eager to send his reply.

“Um, Fawkes?” Harry called as he closed the cupboard door.

_ Yesss?  _

Harry yelped as Fawkes slithered out from under the covers, now apparently in the form of a garter snake. Harry was sure that, if he could, Fawkes would’ve raised an eyebrow.

_ You and I agreed I would find a more discreet form _ , Fawkes pointed out.  _ Is this not acceptable? _

“It’s find, it’s just that . . . I was wondering if you could mail something for me,” Harry replied, scuffing his feet on the floor. Fawkes hissed in annoyance.

_ I just changed form! I . . . well alright, _ He huffed.  _ Just don’t ask me to change again. I’m going to be exhausted after this. _

-)0(-

Far away, in his trinket-filled office, Albus Percival Wilfrec Brian Dumbledore was filling out teaching forms when he saw a flash of light outside his window. He stood, stretching his creaking bones, and went to investigate, but there was nothing there, and the sky was clear of thunder.

“Interesting,” He murmured, and went to sit back down, but before he could, a tapping sound echoed from the window. He turned back, and saw a curiously colored owl rapping its talon on the pane, a letter tied around its leg. Dumbledore opened the window, and the owl flew inside, landing on his desk, and offered the tied letter to him. He took the letter and opened it. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, and he sat in his chair with a loud thump.

_ Dear Professor,  _

_ Hello! I’m replying to this letter on the off-chance that it’s not fake. I don’t know anything about this “magic” stuff, so if you could come and explain it, that would be awesome. Also, I don’t really have a way of getting my school supplies. Is there a place to do that? I don’t think my relatives will want to drive me. Could you come at maybe 1 o’clock on Sunday? Thanks! _

_ ~ Harry J. Potter _

_ P.S.  _

_ I like your owl! _

Dumbledore glanced back up at the owl, who stared steadily back. He didn’t remember having such a startlingly red-colored brown owl in the Owlery, and he most definitely had asked Minerva to send a letter the muggle way.

“Must be getting a bit addled in my old age,” He chuckled. “Ah well.” The owl made a sound similar to a laugh, but Dumbledore ignored it, already pondering more important matters.  _ Who should go to Harry Potter’s house?  _ He considered Hagrid, but concluded that the man would’ve only been useful if Harry’s relatives were uncooperative, which they didn’t seem to be. Then a thought occurred to him, and a smile stretched across his wrinkled face.

He stood up abruptly, upsetting several rolls of parchment, and strode over to the fireplace. He threw a handful of Floo powder in the fire, and crouched down, sticking his head in the flames.

“Severus, I need a favor!”


	3. The Potion Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape arrives to take Harry to Diagon Alley, and soon finds out that not all is well within the Dursley household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give it a read!

“Absolutely  _ not, _ ” Snape hissed, glaring furiously at Dumbledore. “I will not be saddled with the responsibility of shopping with that boy! I’ve made my thoughts about him  _ quite _ clear!” Dumbledore popped another sherbet lemon into his mouth and returned his glare with a calm, serene smile.

“Nevertheless,” He replied. “Harry Potter is in need of school supplies. I would trust in his safety only to you, Severus.”

“ _ Albus, _ ” Snape snapped. “I don’t have time to take care of the needs of a spoiled brat on my day off! I have papers to sign, files to fill, potions to brew-”

Really, Severus, there’s no need to be dramatic,” Albus said, steepling his fingers. “It will take no more than a few hours, and then you can go back to your potion-brewing. In any case, I believe you may be - Oh what is the phrase -‘Judging a book by it’s cover’? Or, in this case, it’s last name.”

“Albus, I cannot—”

“You promised me you would look after him,” Dumbledore interrupted, giving Snape a stern look. Snape paused for a moment, fists clenched, then let out a sharp exhale.

“ _ Fine _ . But I will not be accommodating or  _ catering  _ to his every need,” Snape sat back down in the chair opposite Dumbledore. “I will explain the basics to his guardians, but nothing more.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore conceded, smiling. “I find that acceptable.”

“Good. Now who in the world are his guardians, anyway?”

-)0(-

When the doorbell rang on Sunday afternoon, Harry was dusting the back of the TV.

“Who is it, boy?” Uncle Vernon came lumbering in the room, wearing a milk mustache and holding a half-eaten hamburger. “Go get the door!”

“Yes, Uncle,” Harry replied. Inwardly, he was jumping up and down in excitement. He couldn’t wait to see Hagrid again! And Diagon Alley, and  _ Hedwig _ -

Harry opened the door, and there stood Professor Snape.

Instantly, memories assaulted him. Professor Snape was casting a Killing Curse with casual ease, throwing Dumbledore off the Astronomy Tower. Professor Snape was sobbing, holding Lily in his arms and begging for her forgiveness. Professor Snape was dying, bleeding out from Nagini’s fangs, grasping Harry’s arm and begging him to  _ look at me _ -

“Who is it, boy! Is it Mrs. Figg from across the street?” Aunt Petunia’s sharp question broke the flow of memories, and Harry took a couple of steps back, letting out a shaky breath.

“No,” Harry called back, ignoring Snape’s questioning gaze. “I think it’s a teacher from that school!”

“What school?” Harry turned to see Aunt Petunia walking towards the door, scrubbing a dish with a sponge. “What do you-” She froze, and the dish slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

“Good afternoon, Tuney,” Snape said, and Harry fought the urge to laugh as Aunt Petunia’s face went at least four shades paler.

“S-severus!? What on Earth are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick up the Potter boy and help him buy supplies for Hogwarts,” Snape replied, with only a hint of disdain when mentioning Harry.

“Hogwarts-but-what-we didn’t receive a letter!” Aunt Petunia sputtered.

“I did,” Harry chimed in. “I took it to my cupboard and opened it.”

“Your  _ cupboard?” _ Snape asked, and Aunt Petunia went even paler, if at all possible.

“Who’s that?” Harry groaned as Uncle Vernon’s voice drifted over from the end of the hall. At his voice, Aunt Petunia’s resolve seemed to harden, and she drew herself up to her full height (which wasn’t much, but her neck made up the difference).

“He will not be going!” She exclaimed. “He will not be going to that  _ school _ of yours!”

“What school is this?” Uncle Vernon asked, going to stand next to his wife. “It better not be that freak school you told me about!”

“‘Freak school’?” Snape asked as if unable to believe his ears.

“Indeed,” Aunt Petunia sniffed. “Your school for freaks. We’ve tried long and hard to stamp the magic out of that boy, and I will not have you ruin all our progress!”

“You-” Snape, took a step back, horrified, but quickly regained his posture. “I will be taking the boy shopping, and you cannot legally stop me. It was his parents wish that he attend Hogwarts, and so he shall. Any  _ forceful opposition _ would not be wise.” Aunt Petunia looked cowed, but Uncle Vernon’s face turned a deep shade of puce.  _ Oh no. _

“HE WILL NOT BE GOING!” Uncle Vernon bellowed.

“YES I WILL!” it took Harry a moment to realize that the reply had come from him. He also realized that he was shaking. Uncle Vernon froze, eyes bulging, and then with a resounding cry, he leaped forward and fastened his hands around Harry’s neck. Harry struggled for a moment, choking, before Uncle Vernon jumped back, letting out a startled cry. Harry looked down at his shirt sleeve and realized that Fawkes had slithered out, and was hissing at Uncle Vernon ferociously.

“ _ Fawkes, don’t!” _ Harry gasped, not realizing that he said it in Parseltongue. Snape’s face paled, but he quickly regained control and whipped out his wand.

“Do not handle my student in such a way,” Snape hissed, not unlike how Fawkes sounded a few moments earlier. “We will be going now. Quickly, Mr. Potter.” Harry nodded and rushed out the door, ignoring the inhuman screeching of Aunt Petunia and the incoherent yelling of Uncle Vernon. Snape slammed the door, and that was the end of that.

Harry took several deep breaths and turned to Snape.

“Sorry about that,” He said. “My relatives aren’t very fond of magic.”

“That,” Snape said, wrinkling his nose, “Is an understatement.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Harry made an effort to be polite, even though inside he was dying of laughter.  _ That was fantastic! Ow, my throat.  _ He rubbed at it, wincing. Snape noticed, and his eyes grew darker.

“Do they always strangle you when you disagree with them?”

“Well, I don’t normally yell, sir.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either, sir.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Snape sighed.

“Come along; we need to be done with your shopping by sunset. I have a lot of work to do.”

“What’s your name? I never learned it.”

“You may call me Professor Snape, Potter. I’m a teacher at Hogwarts.”

“I sort of figured that,” Harry did his best to act like a curious child. “Um, what exactly is Hogwarts, sir? The letter said that I had magic, and that I’d been accepted, but it didn’t say much else.”

“Did your relatives never explain this to you?” Snape’s tone was incredulous, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a spark of annoyance.

“Well, no. You saw how they reacted when you came here. They’ve spent most of their time trying to convince me magic didn’t exist.”

“Of course they did,” Snape sighed. “Come on, then, Mr. Potter. I will explain on the way.”

-)0(-

They ended up taking the Knight Bus, much to Harry’s chagrin. He could understand why, but wondered, as he flew forward in his seat and smacked against the window, if they couldn’t have just flown there instead.

“Be careful, Potter!” Snape snapped for the umpteenth time. He dragged Harry back into his seat by the collar.

“Sorry,” Harry replied sheepishly. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Right. You are a Potter, which means there will be money in the vaults of Gringotts that you can use for your schooling. I would advise you to spend carefully; your trust account will only have as much per year as you may need for schooling and a moderate amount of pocket change. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” 

“Make no mistake; we are going to Diagon Alley only for school supplies. If you want to get treats or fancy spellbooks, you’ll have to go another time.”

“Yes sir. Um. . .” Harry trailed off nervously. He wanted to get some actual muggle clothes, so he could be taken seriously, but would Snape really allow that? And his glasses weren’t the right prescription at all; he’d had them adjusted during sixth year last time, but it would be nice to be able to see before then this time.

“Yes?” Snape prompted, and Harry realized that he’d been silent for too long.

“I was just wondering if I could get some clothes of my own,” Harry said. “The only stuff I own are Dudley’s hand-me-downs, and they don’t fit me very well.” Snape looked him up and down, clearly noting the holes, patches and stains in Harry’s very oversized garments.

“Very well,” Snape conceded calmly, but Harry noticed how his hand on the armrest turned white-knuckled.  _ No doubt he’s pissed about how I’ve been treated by the Dursleys, _ Harry thought. _ I wonder how much he’ll yell once he returns to Dumbledore. _ He’d never really forgiven Dumbledore for leaving him with his aunt and uncle, despite everything.

When the Knight Bus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry leaped off with no small amount of relief. Snape looked remarkably unfazed, and beckoned Harry to follow with a casual wave of his hand.

Entering the Leaky Cauldron gave Harry a sharp pang of nostalgia. It’d been a long time since he’d seen the inside of it this bright, and this full of people. In fact, the last time he’d seen this place it’d been a smouldering pile of ash on the ground.

“Afternoon, Professor!” Tom the barkeeper greeted as they approached. “What’ll you be having today?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. I’m helping one of the students with their school shopping.” Tom leaned over to get a closer look, and Harry cringed, and felt Fawkes stir where he was hidden in Harry’s oversized sleeve.  _ Oh, here we go. _

_ “ _ My word,” Tom whispered. “It cannot be Harry Potter?” The whole bar went silent, but Snape quickly intervened.

“I’m afraid not,” He said, and Harry felt a rush of relief. “Now, we really must be going.” He grabbed Harry’s arm and quickly steered him into the back area, where the entrance to Diagon Alley was located.

“Why did he know my name?” Harry asked, pretending to be confused. Snape paused for a moment, then shook his head.

“I will explain after we finish shopping.” Snape whipped out his wand and started tapping the bricks. Harry went to ask another question, but conceded that, while he did want to act curious, annoying his professor was not his ultimate goal.

Then the bricks opened, and Harry gasped in shock.

“Welcome, Mr. Potter, to Diagon Alley.”


	4. The Lovegood Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Snape shop through Diagon Alley, and Harry meets someone he didn't expect.

Happiness. That was what Harry saw everywhere; the shops, the windows, the smiles and laughter and sales. His Diagon Alley had been broken, ruined and poster-filled and crackling with fear and exhaustion. Here, there were children riding around on school brooms, students examining various complicated contraptions and elders complaining loudly about the price of scarab beetles. His awe-filled gaze was only half-faked as Snape led him onward into the bright sunlight.  _ Merlin, it’s good to be back. _

“We’ll be going to Gringotts first,” Snape said brusquely. “The wizarding bank, led by goblins.”

“Goblins?” Harry asked distractedly, peering around at all the shop windows.

“Yes, goblins. They’re exceptionally talented at handling gold. And protecting it, as it were. Never attempt to steal from them, Potter, for you would likely never be found.” Harry snorted.  _ Too late _ .

Fawkes stirred, and Harry patted him absentmindedly. Snape glanced at him.

“What’s your snake’s name?” Snape asked, and Harry blanked.

“You know, I don’t think I ever named him,” Harry replied, hearing Fawkes’s hissing  laughter muffled by his coat. 

“Indeed? Well, Potter, you can only bring a cat, owl or toad to Hogwarts. Snakes aren’t allowed unless special permission is granted by the Headmaster.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to ask, then.”

They reached Gringotts, and were in and out quickly. Nothing really changed, except Snape was exceedingly more subtle about the Stone, and only mentioned the stop they’d have to make. Harry was actually impressed.  _ No wonder he made a good spy.  _

Harry made quite a show about the amount of gold in his vault, making sure to slip in mentions of his lack of toys and food at the Dursleys. The look of anger that flashed across Snape’s face made him almost feel bad for the Headmaster. _ _

“You know,” Harry mentioned idly whilst scooping galleons into his coin pouch. “The Dursleys always forbade me from talking about magic at all. They said something along the lines of ‘stamping the freakishness out of me’.”

“They  _ what _ ?” Snape whispered. Harry turned in surprise and saw Snape pale and shaking with rage. “That-Potter-” He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “That could’ve ended quite badly for you, had you known about your powers. I will be speaking with the Headmaster about your  _accommodations_, rest assured.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, and turned back to his task. Snape continued to watch over him as he picked out Sickles and Knuts, but his eyes were glazed and far away, as if remembering something quite terrible.

Harry ran ahead as they exited Gringotts, bounding down the steps with Snape trailing behind.

“Can I get a wand, first?” Harry asked.

“Very well, but afterwards we’re going to Madam Malkins.”

Harry had to be honest with himself; the outside of Ollivanders looked decrepit no matter if it was burned to hell and back or not. Still, the smell of dust and the magic prickling in the air felt inviting as they approached, and Harry instinctively brushed a hand against the doorframe as they passed through it.

Snape sat down on the only rickety stool, leaving Harry to stand, facing the countless rows of wands cobwebbed boxes. He closed his eyes, feeling the magical auras wash over him with gentle fervor. He’d missed this. 

“Custom.” Harry whirled around, reaching instinctively for his nonexistent wand, only to come face to face with the last person he’d ever expect.

Luna Lovegood was perched on one of the small end tables, legs swinging back and forth in a carefree manner. Her eyes were unfocused, gazing somewhere into the middle distance.

“He’ll need a custom wand. None of the wand’s auras match his.”

“What-” Harry articulated.  _ This did _ not  _ happen last-  _

“Good catch, my dear!” Ollivander slid forward on the sliding steps and stopped with a thunk right in front of Harry, who jumped again. Behind him, he heard Snape let out a muffled curse. “You’ve just saved the both of us a lot of trouble.” He snapped, summoning the infamous flying tape measurer. Harry took an automatic step back, but Luna smiled serenely.

“What is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?” asked Ollivander, rifling through some papers on his desk while the measurer zipped around, taking measurements left and right.

“Well, I’m right-handed.”

“Truly? Excellent. If you would follow me.” Ollivander snapped again, and the measurer flew back into his waiting grasp. Harry and Snape followed, and Luna slipped off of the table, brushing her robes briskly. She went to walk beside Harry, who glanced at her.  _ What is she doing here?  _

Luna smiled at him, and, without pause, said. “The wrackspurts seem quite attracted to you, Harry Potter. Make sure they don’t float away.” Harry gaped at her. Those words. Those were the code words they used to greet each other during the War! But that was years from now, how - unless-

“I didn’t realize you were a witch,” Harry replied, acting quickly. He saw Snape glance at both of them in surprise, but Ollivander spoke before he could.

“You two know each other?” He asked, smiling. “Excellent! It’s always good to know a few folk before going to Hogwarts.” Luna chuckled lightly.

“He is lucky, then, that I get to go to Hogwarts early!” Harry’s heart soared.

“You do?” Harry asked. “That’s great! You can help me learn stuff!”

“Mhmm,” Luna agreed, gently squeezing his shoulder. Harry felt as though a huge weight was lifted from his chest.

“Alright, then,” Mr. Ollivander said, coming to a stop at a table covered in odd bits and pieces. “Here I’ve laid out some wand wood and wand cores. Run your hand over them lightly to see what resonates with you.”

“How will I know if it resonates with me?” 

“You’ll know.”

Harry strode forward and surveyed the mess of wand ingredients, trying to discern any kind of pull or effect to his magical signature. He reached a hand forward, and instantly a buzz lit up in the back of his mind. He selected a single red feather, a couple of what looked like grey horse hairs, a block of midnight black wood and a block of shining silver.

“Dual core and dual wood,” Ollivander murmured. “Very interesting indeed. Let me see those, child.” Harry suppressed a twinge of annoyance at the “child” comment and handed him the ingredients. Ollivander turned them over in hand, muttering to himself, sniffing and brushing his fingertips across them.

“Phoenix feather from a particularly loyal phoenix,” Ollivander finally said. “Thestral hair from an elder thestral. Black walnut and . . . elder wood. Very interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Harry asked despite himself.

“Well, this is a very powerful combination, Mr. Potter, of death and life. Elder wood and thestral hair, walnut and phoenix feather. All symbolize either life, death or rebirth. Whoever wields this wand is sure to be a great wizard.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Harry tried not to think about how literal the wand’s meaning actually was.

“That will be thirteen galleons, for the extra cost of making it. I’ll be sure to be finished in a few hours; come back when it’s done.” Snape raised an eyebrow at the price, but didn’t comment as Harry handed over the money. 

Luna smiled, and, as they left the shop, whispered to Harry: “I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

-)0(-

The sunlight felt abnormally bright after the dingy atmosphere of Ollivander’s, and Harry blinked a few times to adjust. Snape wasted no time in leading him a little ways down the street and towards Madam Malkin’s.

“Here, you’ll be fitted for robes, and any other clothing you wish to purchase,”Snape explained. “Do try not to go overboard, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied, gazing up at the cheerful shop with no small amount of trepidation. He knew who was going to be inside.  _ How to handle this? _

Indeed, when Harry and Snape entered, Draco Malfoy was already there. The blond was snapping orders at Madam Malkin, who looked irritated.

“I told you not to poke me with your needles, woman!” He hissed. “If you injure me, my father-”

“Will certainly hear about it, yes.” Snape cut across the rest of Malfoy’s sentence, who looked up in surprise.

“Uncle Severus?” Malfoy said. “What are you doing here?” Harry gaped. _ Uncle Severus? _

“I am helping a student gather supplies for school,” Snape replied.

“Ah,” Malfoy sniffed distastefully. “Muggleborn, I presume.”

“Half-blood,” Harry corrected quietly. Malfoy looked at him.

“Then why isn’t your magical parent helping you?”

“My parents are dead.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Malfoy looked away, not sounding sorry in the least. Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  _ Man, Malfoy was really snotty when he was younger.  _ In his old time, he and Malfoy had reached something of a truce before Malfoy was killed by vengeful Death Eaters. This Malfoy was nothing like that.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted as Madam Malkin bustled back over.

“Step onto the stool, dear, so I can get your measurements.” Harry obeyed, noticing Snape going to wait outside. 

“What House do you think you’ll be in?” Malfoy asked suddenly. Before, Harry had thought him exceedingly rude, but this time around he could see how Malfoy’s hands twisted nervously in his robes.  _ He’s trying to make friends with me. _

“Slytherin, probably,” Harry answered truthfully. “Either that or Gryffindor.”

“Those are . . . conflicting options,” Malfoy said. “You said you’re a Half-blood? What’s your surname?”

“Potter.”

Malfoy snorted. “Don’t toy with me.”

“I’m not. My name is Harry Potter.” Malfoy’s eyes drifted up to his scar, and widened.

“Ah. Well then, allow me to introduce myself,” Malfoy hopped off his stool, despite Madam Malkin’s protests, and strode over. He held out a hand for Harry to shake. “My name is Draco Malfoy of the Ancient House of Malfoy.” Harry hadn’t realized it back in his previous life, but refusing a handshake of a House member in the Wizarding World was akin to spitting on that person’s face. It was one of the main reasons why Malfoy had disliked him so much. This time around, Harry shook hands with him, feeling an odd sense of deja-vu.

“That’s quite a mouthful,” Harry joked, and he saw with surprise that Malfoy’s mouth twitched upwards in a genuine smile.

“If you two are quite finished,” Madam Malkin called exasperatedly. “I need to fit both of you quickly! I have an appointment at two o’clock!” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but went obediently back to his stool.  _ Maybe things won’t be as bad between us this time.  _ They spent the rest of the robe fitting in relative silence.

To Harry’s utter shock, when he stepped outside, Snape was holding a cage, and in that cage was an achingly familiar white-feathered owl.  _ Hedwig, you wonderful girl!  _ Harry had gotten a new owl late in the war, but he’d never forgotten his first familiar.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry breathed to Snape, who looked uncomfortable.

“I surmised it would be idiotic for you to go without any means of communication during the summers,” was Snape’s explanation, but Harry couldn’t help but feel a large amount of gratitude towards the grumpy man. As they walked back through the Alley, Harry felt a pang of confusion. Why had the man given him Hedwig? Did he feel sorry for him? In the end, Harry decided not to ask.

As they walked back through the Leaky Cauldron, Harry felt a prickle in his scar. He turned, and saw Professor Quirrel sitting in a corner, staring at him intently. Harry felt a pang of fear, but quickly suppressed it and gave a shy wave as they passed through the doorway and into the muggle world.

_ You won’t win, Voldemort. _

_ Not this time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love Luna. She's my favorite character.


	5. Guilt-Tripping the Headmaster and Other Fun Activities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape goes off on the headmaster about Harry's treatment, and Harry boards the Hogwarts Express.

“ALBUS!” 

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore jumped, his papers flying everywhere, as Snape’s voice boomed up the spiral staircase. Not even a moment later, the door banged open, dispelling an irate Potions Master into the office.

“What in Merlin’s name were you thinking sending Potter to live with those _ muggles _!?” Snape spat. “They’ve-they-”

“Severus, what on earth is the matter, dear boy!?” Dumbledore exclaimed, extremely taken aback. “Calm down!”

“I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!” Snape roared. “DAMMIT, ALBUS, THEY TRIED TO _ STAMP THE MAGIC OUT OF HIM! _” Dumbledore went very pale, and very still. His hands clenched and shook, and his gaze centered somewhere in the distance. Then, slowly, he sank back into his seat and put his face in his hands. Snape nevertheless continued.

“They barely feed him, and they make him do all the house work! He’s treated like a slave under his own roof! His bedroom is the _ goddamn cupboard under the stairs! _ And you want to know the best part?” Snape let out a humorless chuckle. “He thought his name was ‘Freak’ until he was three! How-”

BOOM.

Every glass item in the room shattered, every window, every trinket and odd contraption. Snape let out a startled cry and leapt back, hearing the chandelier fall not two feet behind him. Eventually, the cacophony ended, and Albus Dumbledore looked up.

“Albus?” Snape whispered. Dumbledore’s eyes were tearfilled, cold, and furious, although, Snape knew, it was not directed at him. Magic still crackled in the air, but, with a seemingly great effort, Dumbledore reigned it in.

“I have been a fool,” Dumbledore said hoarsely, his voice wavering and loud in the sudden silence. “An utter, unbelievable fool. Tell me, is the boy all right? Is he-”

“He is underweight and underfed,” Snape said. “He jumps a loud noises and sudden movements, and he seems sometimes . . . unfocused. Mentally and magically, he seems remarkably unharmed. It wouldn’t be remiss, however, to keep an eye on him. _ And remove him from those muggles.” _Dumbledore slumped in his chair and exhaled slowly.

“You are correct, of course,” Dumbledore said. “The Blood Wards would not function correctly with that amount of . . . abuse. It would be foolish to keep him there. I had thought that the wards would influence Petunia, perhaps make her kinder. She sent me a letter once, begging me to let her into Hogwarts. I thought she would be happy to raise a magical child.”

“Anyone who knew her would tell you differently,” Snape pointed out. “She is a selfish, jealous, self-righteous hag. But you didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t,” Dumbledore conceded. “I should have. I really am sorry, Severus.” If Dumbledore’s words weren’t enough to convince Snape, his earnest gaze certainly did the trick.

“I know, old man,” Snape sighed. “But it doesn’t change anything. Where will the boy go? He has no other relatives, as far as I’m aware.”

“I’ll arrange something,” Dumbledore said, and a light returned to his eyes. “We have time, after all. Tomorrow, he comes to Hogwarts.”

-)0(-

Harry gazed up at Kings Cross Station, excitement and trepidation thundering through him in equal measure. The place was brighter than he remembered, the bustling, laughing crowd in stark contrast to the screams of the previous timeline. He let out a shuddering breath and entered with his trolley, scooting past a muggle businessman with a child on his shoulders.

_ There it is. _ Harry thought, staring at the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. His hand unconsciously clenched around his ticket, making sure it was still there. He contemplated waiting for the Weasley family to show up, but decided that, even if he didn’t meet them, Ron was still bound to show up at his compartment on the train. He pushed forward through the barrier, flinching automatically as he passed through the bricks. _ Time to face the world. _

Harry found himself near the back of the train, and struggled to lift his trunk up into the carriage. He strained, feeling his veins practically pop with the effort. _ Merlin, I hate being in my younger body. _

“Need a hand there?” Harry looked up and directly into the face of Fred Weasley. Harry took a step back as memories of the wall and George’s screams permeated his mind. He gulped down a cry of shock.

“Um, sure,” Harry managed, after realizing he’d been quiet for too long. George stepped in front and together he and Fred hefted the trunk into the train car, grunting with the effort. 

“What’d you pack in there, rocks?” George asked, turning back. His eyes fell on Harry’s forehead, and widened dramatically.

“But that's-”

“He’s not-”

“He is!”

“Aren’t you?”

“Am I what?” Harry asked.

“Harry Potter!” The twins chorused.

“Oh yes, that’s me.” Harry said. “But I’ve got to go now. Meeting someone on the train, you know.” George- or was it Fred? - shrugged.

“Alright then,” He said. “We’ve got to meet up with someone too. Rumor is he’s got a tarantula!”

“See you, Harry Potter!” Fred - or was it George? - exclaimed, and both of them disappeared into the crowded platform. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, his legs shaking slightly. _ Don’t think about it, just don’t. _

Finding a compartment was a bit more difficult than Harry remembered. The stares and whispers of random students pushed him to the empty one in the back. Sighing, he sat down, sliding his trunk to one side. _ This’ll be fun. _

He looked out the window and spotted the Weasley family not far off; Ginny’s voice, asking to meet him, put a wan smile on his face. Then, the train started moving, and off they went towards Hogwarts.

“Excuse me? Have you seen a toad anywhere? Neville’s lost one.” Harry’s head jerked upwards in surprise. Neville was semi-hiding behind Hermione, who was leaning against the door frame, her bushy hair framing her childish face. As she spoke, Harry could see that her teeth were still crooked. Harry suppressed the strange urge to giggle.

“No, I haven’t,” answered Harry truthfully. Neville whimpered. “Have you tried Summoning it?”

“What?”

“Summoning it,” Harry repeated. He unsheathed his wand and gave it a delicate flick. “_ Accio _Neville’s toad!” Nothing seemed to happen, and Hermione opened her mouth to berate him, or perhaps devise another solution, but before she could, a faint ribbit sounded down the corridor and Trevor the toad flew into Harry’s outstretched hand.

“Trevor!” Neville exclaimed. He darted forward to grab Trevor and cradle him protectively against his chest. Hermione surveyed Harry with a new degree of interest.

“Hermione Granger,” She said finally, stretching out a hand for Harry to shake. He took it.

“Hermione?” Harry asked. “Like in _ The Winter’s Tale _?” Hermione beamed.

“Um,” Neville said shakily. “I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said. “Pleasure to meet you.” Neville squeaked in shock and his eyes darted up to Harry’s forehead, who sighed exasperatedly.

“Harry Potter?” Hermione asked. “Ooh, I’ve read all about you! You’re in_ “Greatest Wizards of the Twentieth Century_”, and-”

“Yes, yes, I really am him,” Harry said. “‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’, and all that. But I would really appreciate you not spreading it around. I’ve had enough staring today to last a lifetime.” Neville nodded mutely and sat down, and Hermione sat down next to him. Idly, Harry felt Fawkes shift where he was curled around his torso, and Harry fidgeted purposefully. _ Not yet. I want them to like me. _

The rest of the early afternoon passed rather uneventfully; Hermione had her head in a book, and Neville was too shy to talk much. Regardless, Harry felt a certain sense of comradre with them, being more of an introvert himself. Their peaceful silence was interrupted only once, and that was when Draco Malfoy came knocking.

“So,” Malfoy said. Harry looked up from studying the first-year potions textbook. “I’ve been hearing all up and down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment.”

“You heard correctly,” Harry replied. “You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you? We met at Madam Malkins.” Neville made another small noise, gazing and Malfoy, with wide, frightened eyes.

“Indeed,” Malfoy said. “I was wondering if you might like to join me and my friends in our compartment, rather than hanging out with-” Malfoy’s lip curled. “_ Others.” _Hermione stiffened, but Harry put a hand up to stop her.

“You’re perfectly welcome to join us, if you’d like,” Harry suggested. “We’ve probably got a lot more room. And besides,” Harry gestured to a small pile of candy he’d procured from the cart earlier, “I’ve still got some sweets left.” Malfoy hesitated, his prejudiced side clearly warring with his desire to be friends with Harry Potter. He glared at Neville, who shrank back, and let out a long sigh.

“Fine,” Malfoy grumbled. He sat down next to Harry, fidgeting uncomfortably. Harry offered him a Chocolate Frog, and that was the end of that.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew that changing Malfoy’s complete mindset would take a lot more than awkwardly sharing a train compartment with people he disliked. _ Still, _ Harry conceded, _ It’s a good sight better start than he had the previous time. _

“I’m sorry if I came across as rude, earlier,” Hermione butted in abruptly. Harry looked at her, and saw that she was on the same page as ten minutes ago. Clearly, she’d been holding in her babbling. “I was ever so surprised when I got the letter to Hogwarts! At first I thought they must’ve made a mistake-” Malfoy scoffed.

“Muggleborn, then, are you?” Hermione’s smile faded slightly.

“Well, yes. My parents are dentists, if you can believe it,” She said. “They were quite surprised when the letter came.”

“I thought it was fake, too,” Harry put in. “The letter, I mean. I hid it from my aunt and uncle, just in case. They don’t like magic very much.” Malfoy turned to him, eyes wide.

“You mean to tell me you’re muggle-raised?”

“Why, yes, of course! What better place to hide me than in the muggle world? Most Death Eaters would rather stick a needle in their scrotum than go there! . . . Sorry,” Harry had forgotten for a moment that he was talking to children. Hermione laughed but quickly turned it into a cough, and Malfoy just looked bewildered.

“But - but that’s impossible!”

“How is that impossible?” Harry asked patiently. “My mother was muggleborn, after all. And the muggle world is actually quite lovely; the only horrid thing about it was my aunt and uncle.”

“Th-they weren’t nice to you?” Neville spoke up, his voice small and worried. Harry shook his head cheerfully.

“Nope, not at all! I’ve slept in the cupboard under the stairs my whole life!” Hermione’s book fell with a thud, and Malfoy looked murderous. But before they could say anything, the compartment door opened again and Crabbe and Goyle sauntered in, looking around with beady eyes.

“I told the both of you to wait for me,” Malfoy scoffed. “Can you not understand me when I speak?”

“You was gone a long time,” Goyle pointed out, and Crabbe grunted in agreement. Then his eyes fell on Harry’s whopping pile of candy, and they narrowed greedily. He reached out a hand to grab some, and instantly Fawkes sprung out, hissing a warning. Crabbe shreiked, and Fawkes bared his fangs.

“Oh, get out, both of you!” Malfoy said, swatting at them as if they were particularly obnoxious flies. Both Crabbe and Goyle fled, sparing brief glances back at the furious snake.

Neville looked terrified.

“Wh-what is that?” He stammered. “Why do you have a snake?”

“Oh him!” Harry exclaimed, wracking his brains furiously. “His name is, um, Haesha.” Haesha meant “fire” in Parseltongue.

“A snake, huh?” Malfoy’s eyes glittered with interest. “What kind is he?”

“Just a garter snake, I think.”

“Garter snakes don’t have fangs like that,” Malfoy pointed out. “I’d look into it, if I were you. It might prove to be . . . interesting.”

The Hogwarts train took another two hours to make it to the school, and by that time, Malfoy, Neville and Hermione had mostly gotten used to the idea of Harry owning a snake. Hermione pestered him about school rules (“But it says only a cat, owl or toad!”), and Neville looked several times as though he was going to bolt from the compartment, but for the most part, Harry had much less trouble than he thought convincing them that Haesha was harmless.

The train began to slow down, and Harry huffed a breath of relief. _ Finally! I’m starving! _

“Leave your luggage on the train,” the nasally announcer drawled. “It will be taken to the school separately.” By that time they had all changed into their school uniforms (Hermione had politely deigned to change in the girl’s room), and so, without further ado, they made their way to the end of the compartment.

Hagrids booming bellow of “Firs’ years! Over ‘ere!” greeted them as they stepped into the chilly night air, directing them to a glowing lantern held by the towering man. Neville squeaked, Hermione looked surprised, and Malfoy muttered, “Oh he is definitely part giant.”

As Hagrid led the first years away from the station and down a slippery path, it occured to Harry that they were bringing students who don’t know how to do magic, with a gamekeeper who _ can’t _ do magic, right along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. _ Well, now, that’s just idiotic. Still, _ he thought as he looked up at the brilliant constellations twinkling above them, _ At least the view’s nice. _

There was a loud “Ooh!” as the castle came into sight, and Harry’s heart leapt with joy. He could feel the telltale hum of ancient magic, and he reached out, grasping at the silvery threads of her consciousness. Warmth filled him.

_Welcome back, Speaker,_ Hogwarts murmured, and Harry felt a single tear slide down his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Malfoy is acting a bit OOC, but it's for a very good reason. You'll know why later.


	6. For I Am a Thinking Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting happens, and Harry is surprised.

Harry felt a tug on his arm, and he looked away from the magnificant view of Hogwarts to see Hermione watching him in concern.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Um, yeah,” Harry replied, wiping his face in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

“Hurry it up, you two!” Hagrid’s voice boomed from farther down the path. “No need to stick around here! Don’t want you gettin’ eaten by werewolves!” Harry and Hermione hurried back up to the main group, ignoring their curious stares. Neville leaned over towards one of the other kids.

“Did he just say  _ werewolves?? _ ”

It took only moments longer for them to catch sight of the dock, wherein lay a fleet of small wooden rowboats.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Harry smiled at Hagrid’s instruction, but Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.

“Does he have to talk so loud?” Malfoy drawled. “Sounds like mummy never taught him any manners.”

“Oh, stop it, will you?” Hermione snapped, drawing a couple of students’ attention. “I thought you were one of the nice ones!”

“‘One of the nice ones’?” Malfoy repeated. “What does that even mean?” Hermione sputtered, but was stopped from replying by Hagrid’s untimely arrival. Neville drew back, clearly intimidated.

“Everythin’ alrigh’, you four?” He said. 

“Oh yeah, everythings just peachy!” Malfoy said. “Except this muggleborn keeps telling me what to do!” He turn on his heel and stalked off to the other Slytherins, who were watching the exchange curiously. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, and Harry quickly intervened.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” He said. “It’s just how he was raised; he doesn’t know any better. C’mon, let’s go find a boat.”

Harry’s thoughts swirled around in his head as they made their way slowly across the lake. Malfoy’s actions were concerning him. He was acting perfectly fine during the entire train ride; why was he suddenly acting prattish now? Harry realized with a start that Malfoy’s demeanor previously had been more on par with how he’d grown to act after the Battle of Hogwarts; standoffish, but polite. What had Harry changed to make him act this way?

He jerked out of his thoughts just to clamber out of the boats and follow Hagrid and the rest up to the castle door. He saw Hermione giving him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, but he stoutly ignored her. 

Hagrid stepped up to the door, and raised his fist. 

BOOM! 

His knock rattled the dusty chandelier above them. The door opened with a loud creak to reveal Professor McGonagall, eyebrow raised in a severe manner. Harry suppressed a gasp. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been . . . she’d been . . . an image of her broken form slammed in front of his vision, and he shook his head furiously, grimacing. Now was definitely not the time.

“Thank you Hagrid,” Professor McGonagall said. “I’ll take them from here.”

“Right you are, Professor,” Hagrid replied, and stepped aside, allowing the huddle of first years to be led into the Entrance Hall. As she did so, Harry spotted a flash of blonde hair in the crowd.

“Luna!” He called, ignoring the strange looks. “Over here!” The willowy girl pushed past the other first years, a wide smile on her face. The bottlecap necklace gleamed in the candlelight. She flung her arms around him, getting several snickers as she did so, but neither of them cared. It had been so long since either of them had properly talked.

“What happened?” Harry asked her quietly as they made their way into a side room. “Why didn’t you meet me on the train?”

“The wrackspurts told me not to,” She replied. “They said I shouldn’t interfere with things. Now, though, I can See you! Hello!”

“Hello,” Harry chuckled. Luna’s eyes floated past him, and she smiled.

“Hello Neville, Hermione, Draco. You’re Harry’s friends, right? I hope I’ll be Seeing you soon as well!” Hermione’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Before any of the others could reply, a shocked scream rent the air, and Harry’s wand was in his hand before he could even blink.

“Ghosts! There’s ghosts here!” One pigtailed girl exclaimed, and Harry dropped his wand arm with a sigh of relief.  _ Ghosts _ , He thought dully.  _ I forgot about the ghosts. Merlin! _

“Clear out!” came McGonagalls voice. “The Sorting is about to begin!” The ghost’s drifting away, talking casually, but Harry noticed the Bloody Baron’s eyes curiously surveying him and his friends. He suppressed a shudder. Even now, the ghost unnerved him.

McGonagall led them into the Great Hall, and the silence overwhelmed Harry. His stomach twisted as he realized.  _ Oh Merlin, the Sorting! The Hat can read my mind!  _ Harry instinctively went to slam down his Occlumency shields, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Doing that would only draw more attention to himself, and make the Hat suspicious.

The Sorting Hat was placed on a stool in front of the first years, and a rip opened up, and the Hat began to sing.

“Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

Polite applause filled the Great Hall, and McGonagall unfurled a long scroll which, Harry knew, contained a list of every new student at Hogwarts.

“When I call your name, please step forward and place the hat on your head. Abbot, Hannah!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The ‘Puffs cheered at being the first house picked.

“Abercrombie, Euan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Boot, Terry!” 

“RAVENCLAW!”

And so it moved down the list until “Granger, Hermione!” Was called, and the frazzled girl stepped forward, mouth moving furiously as she went through all the potions and spells that she knew.

“Good luck!” Harry whispered to her, and she glanced at him before walking up to the stool and jamming the hat eagerly on her head.

“RAVENCLAW!” Harry started in surprise.  _ Wh-what?  _ He’d definitely not expected that. What was going on? But the next name was already being called.

When “Longbottom, Neville!” was called, Harry noticed that his stride was a lot less nervous than it had been previously, although, looking closer, he could see Neville’s hands shaking.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry gaped at the Sorting Hat as Neville went to sit down. How did that happen? Neville was a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff!

“What’s going on?” Harry hissed quietly to Haesha. “Why are they getting different Houses than last time?”

“The Sorting Hat has it’s reasons, and I have a sneaking suspicion as to what they might be,” Haesha replied. “Wait and see when it’s your turn.”

“Lovegood, Luna!”

“RAVENCLAW!” Harry sighed with relief. At least Luna was sorted to the correct House.

Finally, when Professor McGonagall called out, “Potter, Harry!”, the whole Hall went almost completely silent. Harry gripped his wand tightly in the pocket of his robes and stepped forward, sparing no mind to the whispers that spread like wildfire around him.

“That’s him! That’s Harry Potter!”

“Bit small, isn’t he?”

“I wonder what House he’s gonna get!”

Harry’s eyes closed briefly as he lowered the Hat onto his head. He’d forgotten how annoying the whispers were. 

“Another time traveler, and a Speaker of Hogwarts at that!” the Hat said to him. “I’ll be hard pressed to keep my mouth shut about this.”

“Hello, Alastair,” Harry greeted. “Please keep this to yourself; I have a plan, and I don’t want it ruined.”

“Of course, of course,” Alastair said idly. “My only job is to Sort you, after all. But do you mind if I have a look? I am rather curious about what the future holds.”

“Go ahead,” Harry replied. “Just warning you; it’s not pretty.” The Sorting Hat was silent for a few moments, and Harry felt it sorting through his thoughts and memories. Then, loudly, to the entire Great Hall, it yelled:

“GOOD MERCIFUL MERLIN!” 

Several of the teachers let out startled exclamations, and Harry saw Professor McGonagall take a step back.

“Shhhh,” Harry hissed, wary of the eyes trained on him. “Please, just Sort me.”

“But - that can’t be the future, can it?” Alastair sounded genuinely upset. “Hogwarts can’t die!”

“She won’t, but only if you let me do what I need to do!” Harry said. “Put me in Gryffindor, please! You’re taking longer for me than you did with anyone else!” 

The Hat hesitated. And hesitated. Finally, with false cheer and a great deal of reluctance, it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” And Harry placed it back down on the stool and went to join his House once again, who were cheering wildly.

“We got Potter! We got Potter!” The Weasley twins yelled happily. Fred slapped him on the back, and Harry looked at him in mock horror.

“Oh no!” he gasped. “Not the infamous Weasley twins!” Everyone who overheard laughed, and the twins sported identical mischievous grins.

“Glad to see-”

“-That our reputations proceed us!”

“Oh, yes!” said Harry, nodding frantically. “Professor McGonagall warned us about you in our Hogwarts letters!” The twins looked both surprised and horrified.

_ “What?”  _ They exclaimed, and Harry burst out laughing. George snorted and nudged Fred.

“Fred, my dear brother, I think we have been had.” They peered closely at Harry, and Fred nodded.

“We must be losing our touch if an ickle firstie can best us,” Fred said, smiling widely. He outstretched a hand, and Harry took it. “Welcome to Gryffindor!” They simultaneously gestured to a seat next to them, and Harry sat down.

Harry cheerfully paid absolutely no attention to the rest of the Sorting, and instead immersed himself in the familiar faces surrounding him, basking in the warmth that they brought. These people, who’d died horrible and painful deaths, were once again alive. And, whatever it took, Harry was going to keep it that way.

When the last person was sorted, and everyone was in their seats, Dumbledore stood up and tapped his glass politely, silence falling over the Great Hall. Harry’s heart twisted.  _ Oh, Dumbledore. I’m so sorry. _

“I have a few words to say to you all,” Dumbledore said, beaming. “And here they are! Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.” He sat down to a polite round of applause. Harry shook his head and piled mashed potatoes onto his plate, which had appeared when Dumbledore sat down. He saw Ron stuffing his face out of the corner of his eye, and couldn’t help but grin even more.  _ Some things never change.  _

“I’m a half-blood,” Seamus was saying across from him. “Me dads a muggle, mum's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock when he found out.” Laughter rippled around the table.

“Me too,” Harry offered. “‘Cept it’s the other way around.”

“Well, everyone knows who your parents are, Harry,” Seamus snorted. “‘Boy-Who-Lived’, and all that.”

“God, I hate that title,” Harry shuddered. “Puts a bit of a damper on the whole fame thing, being associated with my parents murder.” Seamus looked uncomfortable.

“Ah,” was his eloquent reply. “Sorry, Harry.” Harry shook his head.

“It’s alright; I never knew them,” he said. “Besides, until this year, I thought they’d died in a car crash.”

“A car crash!?” Ron butted in indignantly, spitting food everywhere. “You thought they’d died in a car crash? How’d you manage that?”

“M-my aunt and uncle are muggles,” Harry replied, stuttering as he looked into the face of his old friend. “Didn’t tell me about magic, or anything. I found out when my letter came.”

“Interesting,” Ron said, looking at him contemplatively (or as contemplative as he could look with his cheeks stuffed with pudding). “I sorta thought you’d be a bit big-headed, to be honest. But you seem nice.” Harry shrugged, trying not to grin.

“Hard to be big-headed if you don’t even know you’re famous.” And he shoveled a bit of meat pie in his mouth, effectively ending the interaction.

Dessert passed without much conversation, and by the time the plates vanished, Harry was feeling uncomfortably full. He glanced up at the head table, and saw that, once again, Dumbledore was standing up to address them. He raised his hands for silence.

“To the newcomers, welcome! To our old hands, welcome back!” He paused for effect, and the Weasley twins cheered, causing people around them to snicker. “Filch has asked me to once again remind you that magic is banned in the corridor between classes. And also, that the third floor corridor is off limits to those who do not wish to die a very painful death.” Harry snorted, while everyone around him looked confused. Didn’t Dumbledore know that the best way to get students to do something was to tell them emphatically not to? “In any case,” Dumbledore had continued. “I’m sure you are all tired and ready for rest. You are all dismissed to your House chambers.” 

A great sliding of benches signified the end of the feast, and Harry stood to join the rest of the first-years, being led away by the prefects towards the Common Rooms. Before he could do so, however, a hand grabbed his shoulder roughly, and Harry found himself staring into the grim face of Professor Snape.

“Come with me, Potter,” Severus said gruffly. “The Headmaster wants a word with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy, I wonder what they're going to talk about! I honestly love writing angsty Dumbledore, so expect a lot of it in the next chapter!


	7. Floodgate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Snape visit the Headmaster, and Harry decides to tell them what happens at the Dursleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here’s some more content for you. By the way, I believe I’ve already said this before, but I hate how the Dursley’s abuse is glossed over in canon. Harry would 100% be traumatized by what he experienced there, regardless of the lack of physical abuse ( and there was still some of that, too!). I’m writing Harry’s perspective on this based on my personal experience with emotional abuse, so it should be fairly accurate. One thing I want to emphasize is that this sort of thing can affect you DECADES after it happens, especially if left unresolved or not talked about.
> 
> Also, I do like Dumbledore bashing stories, but I personally believe him to be a genuinely good person; he’s just also a person who’s made a lot of mistakes. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Harry was silent as Severus led him by the arm down the corridor. He thought furiously about what this could possibly be about, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything he’d done.

“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asked. Severus sighed.

“No,” He replied, but didn’t offer anything else. Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. Severus in the future was alright, but right now . . . Harry really wasn’t sure. He seemed less aggressive towards him now that he knew about Harry’s home-life.

Trepidation filled Harry as they climbed the spiral staircase, and Harry double-checked his Occlumency shields. This would be the first time Harry was face-to-face with the Headmaster since he fell from the Astronomy tower, and Harry felt his insides twist at the thought. His feelings about Dumbledore were quite mixed, but knowing what Dumbledore had gone through in his life, he was less resentful than he used to be towards the old wizard.

“Ah, Severus!” Dumbledore exclaimed as they entered the whirring office. “I see you brought young Harry to me!”

“As you asked,” Severus replied stiffly. Harry stepped forward, gaze flicking over the familiar contraptions scattered around the room. He knew what they did now; most were for him. Dumbledore smiled warmly at him, and Harry forced himself to smile back, clenching his hands tightly to stop them from trembling.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry asked, voice surprisingly steady. Dumbledore nodded and gestured to the seat opposite him.

“Please, have a seat,” He said. “You’re not in trouble, I promise.” Harry sat, noting the startling lack of Fawkes on his perch. He went to ask where he went, but realized last minute that he wasn’t supposed to even know about the bird.

“Did you have an easy time shopping in Diagon Alley?” Dumbledore asked him. “I apologize for the short notice. I had assumed your relatives had already informed you of the Wizarding World.”

“Not as such sir,” Harry replied to the unspoken question. “They don’t like magic very much.” Dumbledore’s eyes darkened, and Harry felt a spike of nervousness.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Dumbledore sighed. “Tell me, Harry, and be honest; do the Dursleys treat you very well?”

“I mean, not really, to be honest, sir,” Harry replied, grinning sheepishly. “You know how it is.”

“No, we really don’t, Potter,” Snape interjected sharply. Dumbledore gave him a quelling look. Harry fidgeted, wondering how much he should reveal about the Dursleys.  _ Screw it, _ he thought.  _ I’ve been protecting those assholes for too long. _

“Well, I do most of the chores there. Weeding, mowing, cleaning, laundry, all that stuff. They give me a list of chores to do, and they get kinda mad if I don’t do them in time.” Harry saw Dumbledore and Severus glance at each other, but he pressed forward. “What really got them mad was when I did magic. I remember accidentally turning my teacher’s hair blue; I spent a whole month in the cupboard for that!”

“The . . . cupboard?” Severus said slowly, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“My bedroom,” Harry clarified. “The cupboard under the stairs.” A contraption near Harry rattled ominously, and Harry’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at Dumbledore, who had his eyes closed tightly.  _ Wow,  _ he thought.  _ They’re actually really pissed about this. _

“Continue, Harry,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his forehead. “What else did they do?”

“Well they didn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Harry said. “They left that up to my cousin, Dudley. He used to bully me a lot at school. Uncle Vernon actually told him to, I think.”

“They told him to  _ bully _ you?” Severus asked incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” Harry replied. “I also wasn’t allowed to do better than Dudley at school. Wasn’t allowed to do anything ‘freakish’ either. I thought my name was Freak until I went to primary school.” Harry felt a surprising amount of . . . something, welling up inside him, and he clamped down on the emotion.

“You thought your name was . . .” Dumbledore’s voice seemed to fail him for a moment, and he steepled his fingers, looking up at the ceiling. Severus watched him warily.

“Yeah, I don’t know why-” Harry felt a lump in his throat, and he gasped, doubling over.

“Potter?” Severus exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know why-” He choked, and then the dam broke. 

Wave after wave of emotion bore down on him, and he trembled with the shock of it. Sobs wracked his body, and Harry was numbly aware of tears spilling down his cheeks. He tried to stop, to push it away, but it was as if a wall had burst and couldn’t be mended. His arms wrapped around his chest and he dug his fingernails into his shoulders.

“Oh, dear boy,” Dumbledore said softly. There was a rustle of robes, footsteps, and gentle arms wrapped around Harry, pulling him into a warm embrace. Harry let it ground him, and gradually the world came back into focus, the hardwood floor against his feet, the smell of lemon drops, and the sound of his own heaving gasps.

“I don’t know - I don’t know why they treated me that way!” Harry managed to sob out. “I tried  _ so hard _ to make them proud,  _ so hard. _ Why wasn’t I good enough? Why? I’m  _ not _ a freak, I’m not-” He pressed his lips together to stop the words spilling out. Why was he so affected by this? It was  _ years _ ago. But still he couldn’t  _ stop. _

“Mr. Potter,” Severus’ voice sounded closer to him, surprisingly gentle. “You are not a freak.” Harry let out a miserable sigh.

“I know, I just-”  _ I don’t want more people to get hurt because of me. _ The thought remained unsaid. Eventually the tears stopped flowing, and Harry was able to regain controls of the double doors of his emotions. He slammed them shut and locked them with a resounding click. Dumbledore drew back, and Harry sat back in his seat, feeling utterly drained.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, looking world-weary. “I think Severus and I can agree that you won’t be going back there.” Harry’s eyes widened.

“Really?” said Harry, feeling a spark of hope.

“Really.” Dumbledore’s eyes still did not twinkle. “Just one more question, and you do not have to answer, Harry, if you don’t want to.” Dumbledore leaned forward solemnly, brow furrowing. “Did the Dursley’s ever actively try to - oh what was the phrase - ‘stamp the magic out of you’?” Dumbledore's voice caught on the last word. Harry swallowed, screaming and belts and thrown glassware flashing through his mind in an instant.

“Every damn day,” Harry whispered, and Severus let out a shaky breath. Harry looked at him, but his face remained impassive.

“That will be all, Potter,” He said quietly. “We can discuss your summer arrangements at a later date, but it is well past curfew at this point. I shall escort you to Gryffindor tower, and give you this semester’s password.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, feeling rather small and tired. He got up, his legs shaky. Severus beckoned him forth and, with a startling degree of sympathy, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Bye, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said. Dumbledore smiled sadly.

“Goodbye,” He replied, and the two of them left the office.

Left alone, Dumbledore slumped forward in his desk, barely able to catch himself with the palms of his hands. With trembling fingers, he opened a small drawer in the mahogany desk, wherein lay a small picture of a girl. One with long blonde hair and bright, ocean blue eyes. Dumbledore gazed at her for a moment, and a single tear escaped from his eye and rolled down his cheek.

“Forgive me, Ari, for once again I have failed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was an angst bomb, wasn’t it? This chapter was legitimately triggering for me to write lmao, but I just love writing guilt and angst. You’re welcome.   
Also, Harry does call Snape “Severus” in his head, because that’s how Harry knows him in the future. This will be explained in future chapters.


	8. The Idiot Prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I think Malfoy's acting a little weird. Probably nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, classes start! My apologies for posting a bit late; I’ve had a lot on my plate and depression has been kicking my ass. In any case, here’s the chapter you’ve all been waiting for!

Harry woke up the next morning, entirely unsure how he’d managed to make it to the dorms. He had a vague memory of Snape helping him to the portrait hole and then stumbling into bed, but he had been so exhausted last night that his memories seemed to have leaked out his ears.

“‘Morning, Harry!” Ron yawned from the other side of the room. His hair was fluffy from sleep, and his gaze was unfocussed and groggy. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Harry replied awkwardly. “You?”

“Great!” Ron exclaimed. “‘Except this stupid rat kept me up all night! Wouldn’t stop squeaking, stupid thing.” Then he pulled Scabbers out of his pocket. 

Scabbers.

Blood pounded through Harry’s ears as he stared at him.

Wormtail.

_ That rat bastard. _

His hand itched to curl around his wand, but he stopped himself at the last minute. There was no way in Hell he’d be able to explain away his attacking Ron’s pet, and even less if he explained who Scabbers actually was. _ Best wait until the right time. _

“Um, mate?” Ron’s voice snapped him out of it, and Harry looked up to see Ron staring at him uncertainly. “You wanna head down to breakfast with me? I know we’re not friends, or anything but-”

“Sure,” said Harry automatically. “Let’s go.” He felt Haesha stir beneath the covers, but he hissed, “_ Stay.” _as quietly as possible.

Unlike last time, they didn’t get lost down near the dungeons because Harry actually knew where they were going. He might not want to give himself away but a good sense of direction was nothing to be suspicious about. And besides, Harry was _ starving. _

“Oh, yum!” Ron exclaimed as they entered the Great Hall, the smell of eggs and waffles wafting towards them as if carried by a summer breeze. Harry nodded in agreement and they sat down together at the table, eager to fill their plates.

As they did so, Harry caught a glimpse of Hermione out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, looked back at his plate for a moment, and then got up, brushing his hands on his robes.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ron called after him, but he ignored it. He walked over to Hermione, who was deep in discussion with one half of the Patil twins, and tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, and her eyes brightened.

“Oh, hello. Harry!” She said. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come sit with me at the Gryffindor table,” Harry inquired. A small hush fell over the surrounding students, and they all glanced at him as if they’d never seen him before.

“U-um,” Hermione stuttered. “I’m not sure if we’re supposed to.”

“I looked it up; there’s nothing against sitting at other House tables so long as you don’t cause trouble.” Hermione glanced at a Ravenclaw prefect, who shrugged and nodded.

“But I . . .” Hermione trailed off, looking conflicted. Before she could voice her assent, a new person spoke up, her wispy voice cutting through the meaningless chatter.

“I would love to join you, Harry,” Luna Lovegood said, smiling widely. “The wrackspurts aren’t very abundant here, and I would like to study them.”

“Sure thing!” Harry replied, feeling distinctly relieved. “I was going to ask Neville too, anyway. You’re all welcome. What say you, Hermione?” He turned towards her, a flicker of amusement passing through him. “Will you join us?”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, clearly much more willing now that she wasn’t the only one. “As long as no one harrasses us.” And the two Ravenclaws got up, bringing their plates with them. Luna elected to go and invite Neville, and a few moments later they both returned, Neville sporting a nervous smile.

The small inter-House group made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down, feeling the weight of stares and whispers as they refilled their plates. Neville, Harry noticed, looked particularly offput by the giggling that was going on around them.

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron exclaimed, looking both confused and impressed. “Invite all the Houses to come sit with us, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I?” Harry mused. “Well, I’m not friends with any Slytherins, but that could change. Although I suppose I could invite Malfoy.” Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was pointedly not looking at them. Ron sputtered and coughed, spitting out the sip of pumpkin juice he’d been about to swallow.

“Malfoy?” Ron said incredulously. “Are you absolutely bonkers?”

“Not to worry, Ron Weasley,” Luna butted in with a serene smile. “Harry Potter is just as sane as I am.” Harry and Luna shared a knowing grin, and Hermione covered up a laugh by coughing furiously into her porridge.

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, approaching them. “Your schedules. I seem to have acquired a couple extras.” The last comment was directed at Neville, Luna and Hermione, who all looked rather sheepish. Harry took the offered paper and surveyed it. _ Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic . . . all in all, quite a bit less coursework than sixth year was. _

“Aw man!” Ron exclaimed. “Potions with the _ Slytherins _? That’ll be a blast, that will.” Luna, however, looked quite pleased.

“We share Transfiguration,” She informed Harry, who beamed at her. Neville looked downtrodden.

“I don’t think we share any classes,” He sighed.

“Nonsense!” Hermione exclaimed. “We have double Charms together. See?” Neville perked up, and Harry surpressed a grin. Perhaps outgoing and somewhat bossy Hermione could help Neville win some of his confidence back this time round.

The first year classes were almost exactly as Harry remembered, minus the conspicuous absence of several of his friends for most of them. Flitwick squeaked and fell off his chair when he got to Harry’s name, but Professor McGonagall remained quite composed, something he was immensely grateful for.

The only problem he faced, in fact, was that he could do most of these spells in his sleep. And with the aid of his new wand, most of them came easily, despite his decreased magical strength. As it turns out, it’s a lot harder to do purposefully worse at a spell than it is to do purposefully better, as he quickly found out in his first Charms class.

“Wands out, please,” Flitwick said, a command which was eagerly followed. “Today we are learning the _ Wingardium Leviosa _ spell. Can anyone tell me what that spell does?” In the absence of Hermione, Harry decided to raise his hand instead. Flitwick beamed at him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s the Levitation Charm, Professor,” Harry replied.

“Correct! Five points to Gryffindor. Looks like someone’s done their reading. Now, before we begin . . .” Harry tuned the rest of his lecture out, staring idly out the window. If these lessons had been a bit dull before, they were utterly boring now. He only sat up when he saw the rest of the class pulling out their wands, and he caught the Professor’s gaze fixed sternly on him. 

Quickly, he unsheathed his wand, and, without thinking about it, swished and flicked it without a sound. Instantly the feather rose, steady and rocking from side to side as if carried on a nonexistant breeze. A hush fell over the classroom, eyes turning to him in shock. Harry, realizing his mistake, released the feather, feeling self-conscious and ashamed. _ Harry, you idiot! _

Flitwick looked like Christmas had come early.

“How on earth did you manage that, Mr. Potter?” He asked, amazed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a student pick up on a spell so quickly! And nonverbally, too! Oh, I must tell Albus!”

“Please don’t!” Harry exclaimed, panicked. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I already get so much attention as it is, Professor; you know how people are around me. It’s, um, distracting from my studies.” 

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Flitwick, his eyes twinkling. “It’ll be our little secret!” _ No it won’t, _ Harry thought. _ It’ll have spread through half the bloody school by lunchtime. _But he didn’t say anything, merely rubbed his forehead in resignation.

Indeed, walking into the Great Hall for lunch was like sixth year all over again. Stares and whispers followed him as he sat down. People craned their necks to see him, some even standing up, and Harry could feel the gaze of the teachers on the back of his neck.

“Hey, mate, how did you do that levitation thing?” Ron asked him, piling potatoes onto his plate. “I tried all class, and I couldn’t even get it off the table.”

“It was accidental magic, I think,” Harry said. He’d made the excuse up when a 1st-year Hufflepuff had stopped him in the corridor, and decided to stick with it. “I just really wanted it to work. None of my other spells worked like that; you saw me in Transfiguration.” Indeed, he’d purposefully screwed up the wand movement for the matchstick, failing and failing again to transfigure it. By the time class ended McGonagall looked extremely disappointed, but it was better than them thinking him some kind of prodigy. He needed to lay as low as possible this time around.

Ron nodded in acknowledgement, shoved potatoes into his gaping maw. 

“I fink,” He said, spit flying everywhere. “‘U are ‘ight.” He swallowed, wincing, and continued. “My brother Charlie did that once in Defense Against the Dark Arts; performed a Sheild Charm once, then couldn’t do it for almost a month. At least people think you’re a genius now.”

“That is literally the opposite of what I want,” Harry sighed. “I get stared at enough as it is.”

“But you’re famous!” Ron emphasized.

“Yeah, well, being famous for your parents brutal murder isn’t very fun, is it?” Harry snapped. Ron immediately looked apologetic, but didn’t seem to know how to respond. They spent the rest of the meal in awkward silence.

* * *

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Snape said. His voice was compellingly quiet, and, unlike last time, Harry was much more inclined to listen. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." The last comment was punctuated by a glare at Harry, who merely gave a polite smile back.

“Potter!” Snape snapped. “What would I get if I combined powdered root of Asphodel with an infusion of Wormwood?”

“The Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry replied smoothly. Snape looked thrown off guard, but quickly schooled his features.

“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They are the same plant, also known as aconite.”

“What potion is colorless, odorless, and forces the drinker to tell the truth?”

“Veritaserum, sir.”

Snape stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head and continuing with the lesson. Harry noticed many students gazing at him in awe, and inwardly, he groaned. _ Great! Now more people think I’m some kind of prodigy. _

During the Cure Boils lesson (a potion which Harry could honestly do in his sleep), Harry deliberately put the porcupine quills in just a couple seconds late, causing the potion to turn out yellow instead of cream-colored. Snape took great pleasure in taking points off of him, lip curled in disgust, and for once, Harry agreed. If he’d been given this particular potion for anything, he would’ve thought it was some sick joke.

Due to Harry’s fluctuating magical control, by the time dinner rolled around, half the school thought he was an idiot, and the other half thought he was a genius. Harry supposed it could’ve gone worse, but he definitely needed to work on balancing it out.

As he’d done for all meals thus far, he invited Luna, Hermione and Neville to sit with them, garnering many more looks from both the Head table and his surrounding classmates. Halfway through the meal, however, someone else decided to join them.

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned, coming face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was looking mightily pissed off about something.

“Y-yes?” Harry said.

“I need to talk to you, Potter,” Malfoy replied, his voice clipped and tense. Ron was staring at Malfoy in abject horror, but Harry nodded and stood to follow him into the Entrance Hall.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Malfoy whipped out his wand and shoved Harry against the wall, pointing it directly at his throat. Harry winced, scrabbling at the rough stone with his hands.

“Whoa, what-”

“What the _ hell _ are you playing at, Potter? If that’s who you even _ are _ . You keep doing things _ differently _. Everything is different! What have you done?”

“What have I-” Then everything clicked into place, and Harry sucked in a breath. “You’re from the future too, aren’t you?” Malfoy’s eyes widened and he took a step back.

“I’m . . . yes, I am. I thought you were possessed.”

“Possessed?” Harry laughed. “How would I be possessed? Quirrel’s still here, isn’t he? And wearing his turban.”

“And smelling like garlic,” Malfoy conceded. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking world-weary. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you’re here. I have no idea how I got here. One moment I was fighting, the next I woke up the day before going to Hogwarts!”

“You think I know?” Harry asked breathlessly, still reeling a bit. “Fawkes was only supposed to bring me! At least, that’s what he told me.”

“Fawkes?” Malfoy said. “That bloody bird still attached to you, is he? What the hell did you two do this time, Potter?”

“Time travel.”

“Yeah, I gathered that on my own, strangely enough.”

“Malfoy, listen,” Harry implored. “Everyone was dead. Everyone. I had to go back.” Malfoy’s expression changed. _ Malfoy’s expression changed, from rage to shock, as the blade pierced through his stomach. Blood, so much blood. I tried to save him. He agreed to the plan, to bait the Death Eaters into thinking he felt remorse for betraying them. Fighting. Too much fighting. Couldn’t get there in time, couldn’t- _

“-otter? What is it? What in Merlin’s name happened?” Malfoy’s voice cut through the memory, and Harry dimly realized that he’d slid down the wall, breath shallow and harsh. He forced himself to inhale through his nose, and Malfoy crouched beside him, eyes filled with concern. Harry exhaled, and closed his eyes.

“The report you found was false. The main attack wasn’t at Diagon Alley. We played right into their plans. They wanted you to give yourself up, and the moment you did, they killed you. The fighting already started, and I couldn’t get to you in time. In the fray, we learned of an attack on Hogwarts, where Luna and the others were camped out, and by the time I got there-” Harry’s voice caught, and he opened his eyes. Malfoy looked horrified, and he ran a hand over his face.

“Merlin,” He said roughly. “That’s - that must have been - are you okay?” Harry laughed humorlessly.

“Do I seem okay to you?” Harry fisted his hands in his school robes to stop them from shaking. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. The point is, I have to stop it from ever reaching that point. We have to destroy the horcruxes before the war even starts.”

“How?” Malfoy laughed. “Should we kill the basilisk? I’m not sure-”

“No. We can’t change events that much, or else I won’t be able to predict what’s going to happen. We’ll have to wait until second year to slay that thing and start killing horcruxes.”

Well, what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“We bide our time. Gather strength and allies. Foster unity between Houses. If we can prevent House rivalries from growing, we might even be able to convert some of your Slytherin friends. When the time comes, we need to be as united as possible.” Harry stood up, brushing dust from his robes, and Malfoy did the same.

“I may actually know a way for us to gain more magical strength,” Harry commented. “But it involves Hogwarts, and it’s a long and dangerous process.”

“It always involves Hogwarts, and it’s always a long and dangerous process,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m in, of course.”

“Why, Malfoy, I didn’t know you had such Gryffindor tendencies.”

“Shut up, Potter.” Malfoy’s usual phrase lacked the venom it had in years past; it had become something of an inside joke to the both of them. Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I just can't believe everyone was dead," Malfoy's voice was almost a whisper. "How could they have done that? I don't understand." Malfoy's eyes were pained and distant, and Harry knew he was thinking of his former friends.

"They were too far gone," Harry replied, shrugging. "Drunk on power and desperation. They would've done anything to ensure their victory."

"If I hadn't ran, I would've-" Malfoy's face twisted. "Fuck, I would've been just like that, wouldn't I? I would've killed you, if they'd asked." Harry barked out a laugh.

"Lot's of people would've killed me, given the chance. You're not special."

"I _know_, but-"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry interrupted, smiling. "What's done is done." Malfoy chuckled, leaning back against the wall. The sunset bounced through the dusty windows, bathing him in a warm glow.

"So, what's the plan?" Malfoy asked after several moments passed.

"Meet me in the trophy room at midnight this Saturday; I should have more of a plan put together then. _Man_, this'll be difficult." Malfoy snorted, and lazily opened one eye.

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry's mouth twitched.

"You wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that’s a wrap for this chapter. I’m wondering just how many of you saw this coming. My apologies if it wasn’t quite what you were expecting, but there is a reason that people came back with Harry.  
As you may have already noticed, the timeline of events in Harry’s future/past is a good deal different. I will be expanding on this more throughout the story, don’t worry. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this very belated chapter; I enjoyed writing it a lot!


	9. A New Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape. Snape. Severus Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for trigger warning.

The rest of the week’s classes passed by in a blur, as slowly, Harry gained more control over his magic. Haesha remained mostly in the dorms, content to live off of wandering mice and napping beneath Harry’s covers, hissing advice now and again on how Harry should conduct his magic. It was strange, Harry reflected, not being able to do it wandlessly; It was like a dampener had been put over his powers. Not that Harry minded; it made it a lot easier to pretend to be a first-year just now learning magic. The problem lay in convincing the other eleven-year-olds.

  
“You got the wandwork perfectly!” Hermione exclaimed during their library practice session. “Why didn’t the spell go through?” Her tone was strange, as if she were trying to catch him out on something. Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.

  
“I dunno,” he replied. “I must’ve forgotten to focus my intent, is all.” Hermione frowned.

  
“‘Intent’? What do you mean?”

  
Harry realized belatedly that intent was something only specifically taught starting in third year, and cursed internally.

  
“Well, I mean,” Harry floundered.. “Isn’t focusing on your desired outcome just as important as wand patterns and pronunciation? It makes sense, anyway. If you don’t focus your mind, your magic won’t follow suit.”

  
“Excellent explanation, Potter.” Harry jumped and twisted around to see McGonagall observing them, a pile of books held in one hand.

  
“Uh-” _Shit_. “Thanks.” Professor McGonagall gave him a half-smile.

  
“See me after class, Mr. Potter,” She said. “It appears we have some things to discuss.” Harry smiled weakly, whilst also screaming internally. 

  
_She totally knows something, doesn’t she?_

  
The rest of the class period was spent failing at spellcasting, and nervously bouncing his leg under the table. It got so bad that Hermione frowned at him, putting down her feather.

  
“You’re shaking the table,” She informed him. “Why are you so scared of McGonagall?”

  
“I’m not,” Harry denied. “I just don’t know what she wants.”

  
“It’s nothing bad; I’ve seen her angry, and it’s not that. She probably just wants to check in with you about your spellwork.”

Hermioned sighed and propped her head up on one hand. “God, I wish that were me.” Harry snorted, but didn’t reply.

  
After class was over, the students filed out of the room, leaving Harry to approach the Professor’s desk. She didn’t look up from the papers she was studying, so Harry stood there awkwardly for several moments. 

  
“Is there a reason that you are pretending to be worse at magic than you are, Mr. Potter?” She asked finally, putting aside the paperwork. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t really have an answer. Professor McGonagall sighed, then placed a match on the table in front of her.

  
“What do you want me to do with that, Professor?” Harry asked nervously. McGonagall looked at him sternly.

  
“You know exactly what to do, Mr. Potter,” She said. “Turn the match into a needle. Go on.” 

  
Harry knew at this point that the jig was up, and so he pointed his wand at the match and flicked it, pronouncing the spell perfectly. Instantly, the match transformed into a perfect silver needle, complete with a small design on the end of it. Professor McGonagall nodded once, satisfied.

  
“Good,” She said. “Now, are you going to answer my question?” 

  
“I don’t really know what to say, Professor,” Harry answered honestly. “I guess I’m just used to doing it.” Truthfully, it was a habit that took him years to break in the previous timeline, one born out of necessity so as to not do better than Dudley at school. He did his best to adopt a sheepish expression as McGonagall’s brow furrowed.

  
“Whatever do you mean by that, Potter?” 

  
“My aunt and uncle used to get upset when I did better than Dudley at school, so I had to make sure that I didn’t, even if I knew the material. I guess I’m just used to doing worse than I should.”

  
“I see.” Professor McGonagall looked discomfited at this revelation, but thankfully, she didn’t push. “Well, I do hope you realize that there is no one here who would punish you for doing well in school. In the future, I expect you to perform to the best of your ability; if you know how to, then do the work properly. Is that understood?” 

  
“Yes, Professor.”

  
“Very well. You are dismissed.” Harry turned to leave, but McGonagall interrupted him. “Oh, and Mr. Potter? Five points to Gryffindor for exemplary wandwork.” Harry grinned, and left for his next class.

* * *

“So, what did she want?” Hermione asked during dinner. “Professor McGonagall, I mean.”

  
“Oh,” Harry swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “She was just wondering why I was deliberately dumbing down my spellwork when I knew how to do it already.” 

  
“Why on earth would you do that?” Hermione exclaimed, looking utterly scandalized. Ron snickered, and Neville looked confused. Harry shrugged, and gave the same explanation as he’d given McGonagall. When he finished, Hermione looked furious.

  
“Why those-” She sputtered. “They made you fail classes on purpose!? Why I oughta-” She began spewing out insults and curses that Harry wasn’t even aware she knew. Ron looked progressively more shocked as she continued, potatoes falling out of his mouth in comical awe. Even Neville looked impressed, though he hid it behind a hand and a shy smile. Luna simply smiled in satisfaction.

  
Hermione finally ran out of air, and sat there panting, red-faced and furious enough to rival Molly Weasley herself. Harry noticed several of the teachers looking over at them, and the conversation in their vicinity had grown suspiciously thin. Harry quickly intervened before Hermione could get going again.

  
“I know,” Harry said. “But luckily, I don’t have to go back there. Dumbledore said it himself.”

  
“You could stay at my house, mate!” Ron said, still eyeing Hermione like one would eye a slowly ticking bomb. “We could play Quidditch together or something! I could get Fred and George to join us!”

  
“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll be able to choose where I stay. Still, would be worth mentioning to Dumbledore, if I get the chance.”

  
Ron beamed. “Brilliant.” 

  
The rest of dinner carried out with little drama, besides one of the first-years spilling an entire bowl of punch at the Ravenclaw table.

* * *

  
On the way back to the dormitory, Harry frowned, remembering his promise to Malfoy to meet on Saturday. _Which is tomorrow_, Harry realized, vaguely surprised that the week had gone so quickly. Even with Quirrel there, the week almost didn’t seem real. 

  
Harry was suddenly seized with terror. What if this was all a dream? What if he woke up and everything was actually gone, dead? He gulped in a breath, and the world seemed to narrow around him. _Oh God, it’s not real is it? I’m dead, everyone’s dead, he won, oh_ God-

“Harry?” Ron was staring at him worriedly, but Harry couldn’t move, couldn’t think. “You alright, mate?”

  
“Fine,” he breathed from very far away. “I just- I need-” He tipped sideways grabbing onto the wall beside him.

  
“Harry!” Ron exclaimed, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

  
_You died, you’re dead, everyone’s dead, it’s your fault, it’s your fault itsyourfaultitsyourfault-_

  
“Step aside, if you will, Mr. Weasley,” A familiar monotonous voice said. A hand gently grasped his elbow, and Harry flinched, curling further into himself. He realized idly that he’d sunk to the floor, and his eyes were squeezed shut. The hands, which had previously grabbed him, now hauled him to his feet, supporting him and pulling him away down the hall. Harry clinged to the robes and buried his face in them, desperate to feel that it was real, it was there. _Smells like mothballs._

  
“Please,” Harry whispered, not sure what he was asking for. The person faltered for a moment, but continued onward, pushing open a doorway and leading him into a room. Harry opened his eyes blearily, and saw that he was in someone’s quarters.

  
“Sit, Potter,” the person said, and Harry saw himself walk forward and sit in one of the armchairs closest to the fireplace, which burned brightly in the dim room. After a short amount of time, a cup of tea was pressed into his shaking palms. The person sat in the chair opposite him, who Harry now realized was Professor Snape.

  
“Name three things you can see in the room.”

  
“Sorry?” Harry asked. The word was slurred, and it felt like it came from another person’s mouth.

  
“You heard me,” Severus said, leaning back in his chair. 

  
“Um,” Harry exhaled. “I . . can see . . . Books. Table. Jars.” And so he could. The room itself was quite dark, but bookshelves were featured prominently.

  
“Three things you can hear.”

  
“Sh-shouting, footsteps, pl-playing outside.” Harry’s chest felt tight, like a rubber band was constricting him. “I-I can’t-”

  
“Three things you can feel.” Severus interrupted softly.

  
“Chair. . . arm. Floor is hard. There’s a pillow next to me. It’s . . . fluffy?” Harry felt more aware now, and he realized vaguely that his heartbeat had slowed.

  
“Drink your tea, Potter.” Harry obeyed unquestioningly, and immediately the rest of the panic, flowed away. He slumped in his chair, exhausted.

  
“What was in that?” He asked dumbly.

  
“Calming Draught. You looked like you needed it.” Harry huffed.

  
“Yeah, you could say that.” He said. His voice was still small and tired, but it no longer felt like a stranger’s. Harry felt drained, as if he’d just run a marathon. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  
“Do you get panic attacks and flashbacks often, Mr. Potter?” Severus’ eyes bore into him. Harry shook his head, biting his lip. Many of the others had suffered those symptoms during the war, including Ron and Hermione, but he’d never been affected.

  
“No,” He whispered. “I don’t know why it’s happened now, when I’m away from it all.”

  
Severus’ brow furrowed. “What did those Dursleys _do_ to you, child?” 

  
“Oh, No,” Harry said hastily, realizing what that whole thing must’ve looked like to him. “It wasn’t about that - I mean - it kind of was, I just . . .” Harry floundered for a moment. “I thought maybe this was all a dream. It’s not real, and I’m just going to wake up back where I started.” 

  
“I see,” Severus’ tone was dark, but he didn’t press the matter. “Well, as it so happens, Potter, symptoms can get much worse after one escapes those circumstances they were trapped in.” 

  
“Great,” Harry sighed. “Just when I don’t need this.” He rubbed his temple, briefly wondering if this might affect his plans in the future. “Can I maybe have more of that Calming Draught stuff? For if this happens again?” To his surprise, Severus shook his head, lip curling.

  
“As _incompetent_ as that statement was, I will let it slide for now.” He said, though without the usual bite. “Potions do not let your body process and run it’s natural course, which is why I only gave it to you after you calmed down. If you want to be rid of these attacks anytime in the next decade, you need to let them happen.”

  
Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. This was turning out to be an entire obstacle of his time travel that he hadn’t anticipated. _Panic_ _attacks_. Unconsciously, his nails dug into his arms. How _pathetic_.

  
“If I may make a suggestion,” Severus’ voice broke through his thoughts. “Madam Pomfrey is well-versed in counseling and mental health, far more so than I. It can be relieving to talk about such things to a trusted adult.” 

  
“I don’t - okay,” Harry decided not to argue, but Severus picked up on his hesitance and sighed.

  
“By all means, disregard my advice,” He sneered. “On your head, be it.”

  
“I do want to,” Harry blurted. “I just . . . don’t want people thinking I’m weak, is all.”

  
“Weak,” Severus scoffed. “I’ve had nightmares, panic attacks. I’ve dealt with similar issues, and I’ve employed Madam Pomfrey’s services. Do you think I’m weak, _Potter_?”

  
“ . . . No?” Harry offered.

  
“Then why in Merlin’s name would you be different?”

  
“I-” Harry mulled it over. “I guess you’re right, sir.”

  
“Good.” Severus replied. “Do consider my suggestion. In the meantime-” He glanced at the clock. “It’s almost curfew. You should head back to that . . . _den_ of yours.”

  
“Right,” Harry cleared his throat and stood up. “Um, thanks, I guess.” Severus looked as though he’d bitten into a particularly strong lemon, but said nothing in return.

  
Harry made his way towards the door, but stopped before he could exit.

  
“What is it, Potter?” Came Severus’ sharp question.

  
“I must say, sir,” said Harry, grinning back at him. “That’s the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.” Then he hurried out of the room, before Severus could assign a detention. 

  
Before he did so, though, he could’ve sworn he saw Severus give him a very, _very_ small smile, and turn away toward the fire, face wreathed in flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack, dissociation, flashback, PTSD, child abuse mentions.


End file.
